His mouth set in a bitter line, he turned on his heel and stomped off. I glanced back to Lydia. “You need to leave.”
“Fine. But you’d better keep an eye on Trevor there.” Her voice echoed through the store. “He’s not very good at listening to reason.” She waltzed up to the counter, tossed a fifty at Tawny, and pranced her way to the door. As it closed behind her, I met a line of expectant faces staring at me.
I coughed. “Just a minor difference of opinions, folks. I’m sorry we disrupted your shopping. Tawny, give everyone a ten percent discount today.”
Tawny nodded. Maybe a little well-placed bribery would slow down the local gossip mill, though I had my doubts. Small towns fed on gossip like flies on honey. Now I just had to deal with Trevor.
Chapter 2
TREVOR HAD SLUNG himself into the chair and was staring sullenly at the floor. I eased into the room and perched on the corner of the desk. He was a good kid and I’d grown to like him, but he carried a real chip on his shoulder, as if the world owed him a living and it wasn’t paying up. I played with Auntie’s stapler for a moment, mulling over what to say and how to say it. Aunt Florence expected me to deal with these matters when I was in charge, and I wasn’t going to let her down.
“Big screw up, Trev. You’re part of the staff and that means you have absolutely no leeway with regards to situations like this.” He rolled his eyes. I reached over and tapped him on the shoulder. “Get real, dude. This is a business. You know you can’t act like that in front of our customers. I don’t give a rat’s ass who they are or how much you don’t like them. My aunt would have chewed you up one side and down the other if she’d been here instead of me.”
He stared at his sneakers, his shoulders drooping as the defiance drained out of his posture. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Look, I’m sorry, okay? It’s just that seeing Lydia took me by surprise. I should have just ignored her, but that look on her face sent me over the edge. She makes me so mad, sometimes I just want to… to make her hurt as much as she hurt me.”
I jammed my hands in my pockets and slid into Auntie’s chair, propping my feet on the top of the desk. “So tell me what happened. Do you want to talk about it?”
He shrugged. “You rock, Persia, but just leave it alone, okay? We were an item. I fell for her, she duped me, end of story.” He was obviously trying to blow it off, but the pain in his voice was too raw. Lydia had struck a nerve when she confronted him. I wondered just what Trevor had seen in her. She was so shallow and insensitive that a blind man would have read her without blinking.
Trev glanced at me and snorted. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t bother asking me why I hooked up with her, because I can’t tell you, other than the fact that she’s hot. I don’t even know why she gave me the time of day, but even though she treated me like dirt, you get used to being around somebody, you know? Even though she thinks I’m crap, I still miss her.” He looked like he’d been dumped overboard and left for dead on the rocky shore.
I decided that he just needed some time to cool off. “Okay. Don’t let this happen again. Go on back to Moss Rose Cottage and put in a couple hours of hard work to get rid of some of that tension.”
“Sounds good, but first I think I’ll run over to the BookWich and grab a sandwich. I forgot my lunch.” Flashing me a grateful smile, he took off out the back entrance. As I watched him go, I hoped that he’d find someone new, and soon. Trev was a good guy. He deserved a girl who would treat him right.
The intercom buzzed and I flipped the switch. Tawny’s voice echoed over the speaker. “Can you come out here? Ms. Wang has a question.”
Oh great. Lydia was back? Now what?
“I’ll be there in a moment,” I said, grimacing. The last thing I wanted to do was to tangle with Snarling Beauty again. With a sigh, I pushed my way out of the office and headed for the counter.
Venus Envy was dedicated to offering customers an oasis of tropical harmony, with soothing sea green walls and muted mauve and gold trim. One entire wall was taken up by a mural-sized reproduction of Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus, only Aunt Florence had hired Tim Reese, a local artist, to paint it and he’d noticeably enhanced some of Venus’s endowments and given her an uncanny resemblance to Sharon Wellstone, a woman on whom he had a crush. A few of the town matrons had been scandalized by the naked woman on the clam shell, but after a while talk died down, and now people pointed it out as a local artistic must-see.
Cushioned wicker and mahogany benches offered respite to tired shoppers and potted ficus benjamina trees—ornamental fig trees—stood sentinel, guarding either side of the door. They towered a good ten feet into the air, still well under the sixteen-foot ceiling near the front of the shop. A large window over the entryway flooded the main store with light, and Auntie’s displays were filled with baskets of lotions and soaps, scrubbing puffs, and scented oils.
With so many scents competing with one another, we opted for a fragrance-free, three-foot white pillar candle on the counter, protected by the largest hurricane lampshade I’d ever seen. Tawny lit it every morning when she opened the shop, and the flame flickered all day, dancing around the wick. When I closed my eyes, I could imagine I was in Key West or on some tropical island.
Lydia was standing in front of Aphrodite’s Mirror, or Aphrodite’s Looking Glass, as Barb had called it. Barbara Konstantinos, my best friend and the owner of the Baklava or Bust Bakery, had brought it back from a recent trip to Greece, where she and her husband had visited his family. She’d given it to me, and I loaned it to the shop, thinking it might be a good draw. I’d been right.
Some twenty-four inches in diameter, the frame was exquisitely hand-carved and painted with gold leaf. Center-top, Aphrodite danced in a field as nymphs cavorted joyfully around both sides of the looking glass. Pan crouched bottom-center, playing on his pipes. The mirror sparkled, and every time I glanced in it, my mood perked up.
Lydia pointed to the mirror. “How much?” She pulled out her checkbook.
Incredulous, I pointed to the note tacked on the wall next to the mirror. In large bold letters, it read, “Not For Sale.”
“Read the sign. The mirror isn’t for sale.”
“Ridiculous,” she said. “Name a price and I’ll pay it. I want that mirror, and I get what I want.”
Growing more ticked by the minute, I said, “I will only tell you this once again: The mirror isn’t for sale. Deal with it.” Refusing to waste any more time on her, I turned and started toward the office. The next thing I knew, Lydia swung around in front of me. We were nearly the same height, and I found myself staring into her brilliant, fuming eyes. Her nostrils flared. Apparently, she wasn’t used to be dismissed.
“I have more than enough money. Don’t make this difficult.”
I leaned toward her, out of patience. “That mirror was a personal gift to me from a friend. I offered to let my aunt hang it in the store. Read my lips: there’s no way in hell anybody’s going to get their hands on it.”
The anger in her eyes turned to astonishment. Before she could continue the argument, I walked away, leaving her standing in the middle of the aisle. I slipped in back of the counter to help Tawny just in case Lydia decided to get belligerent. Lydia looked around uncertainly. I had the feeling very few people ever talked to her the way I had and no doubt she’d try to find some way to take revenge, but we’d weather the storm. From what I understood, she was due to leave for New York in a few weeks anyway.
She flashed me a cold stare, but I just shrugged and stood my ground. After a moment, she stuck her nose in the air and headed for the door. I watched her retreating figure, shaking my head. Annoying and a drain on the psyche.
As she neared the door, two young women who had been browsing through the bath gels swept in to block her path. One, a red-headed beauty bordering on anorexic, looked like she had a bone to pick with our beauty queen. The other girl, a little on the plump side, was truly lovely. Or she would have bee
n, if she hadn’t been staring at the ground, her shoulders rounded and slumped as if she carried the weight of the world on them.
Uh oh. Did I sense yet another showdown in the offing? Lydia had no lack of adversaries, apparently. I casually wandered over to the candle section near where they were standing and began to organize the shelves.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Lydia Wang,” the redhead said with a snarky look. “I thought you’d be in New York by now. Better run along to your photo shoot before your Botox wears off.”
Lydia inclined her head ever so slightly. “So lovely to see you, too. By the way, I meant to tell you how sorry I am that you only placed second, but then again, you’ve always been second-rate, haven’t you, Colleen?” Her laughter tinkled through the shop, unpleasantly light and aloof.
Colleen. That would be Colleen Murkins, the second-place winner. Sponsored by Radiance Cosmetics, a natural cosmetics line out of Seattle, the contest had been open to young women living in western Washington and offered the winner sweet rewards. Not only did the winner receive a substantial cash prize, but she also got her pick from among several SUVs, along with a lucrative two-year contract to be Radiance’s new face model and spokeswoman.
Second-place winner, if I remembered right, won a measly thousand dollars. But from what I’d heard, the competition between the two women went a long ways back, years before the Radiance contest.
Colleen bared her teeth. They were a little too white. “At least I didn’t screw the judges in order to win.”
Zing! Yep, no holds barred. I was about to stroll over and break things up when Lydia turned to the other girl, who cringed and glanced around nervously.
“And you—what a joke! Why did you even bother to enter?” Lydia pushed past them, continuing on her way to the door where, without missing a beat, she turned back to say, “By the way, Debbie, if you get that lard ass in gear, you should waddle over to Trevor’s. You might be able to interest him now that I’m out of the way. I know you like him. Although, he’s not into pork, so maybe you shouldn’t bother.” The sound of the door slamming echoed behind her.
Always a sucker for the underdog, I leaned against the shelves, wishing that I could chase after Lydia and smack her a good one. But I flashed back to the speeding ticket in my purse and nixed the idea. Harassment charges weren’t my idea of fun.
Poor Debbie turned bright red and looked ready to burst into tears. Colleen wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulders and started to lead her away, but Debbie stopped, staring at her reflection in Aphrodite’s Mirror. The crimson slowly drained from her cheeks. She took a deep breath.
“I hate her. I’m not hideous. I’m not that fat!” Her voice faltered as she turned to Colleen. “Am I?” A desperate desire for approval played over her face. I wanted to rush up, shake her by the shoulders and say, “You’re a lovely young woman! Don’t rely on others to make you feel better. You have to believe in yourself.” But I didn’t. I just stood there, pretending not to watch.
Colleen forced a smile. “Of course you aren’t. Don’t let her get to you, Deb. She’s not worth it. You and I both know she screwed her way to first place. C’mon, let’s go pick out some bath salts and lotions.”
“Go on ahead, I’ll be there in a minute.” Debbie leaned against the shelf as Colleen moved off. I could see her fighting to keep the tears down. That did it. I’d had enough of Lydia’s carnage.
I cleared my throat. “Debbie?”
She sniffed and looked up at me, swallowing. I knew that swallow—she was trying to gain her composure. “Yeah?”
“I just wanted to… well, you really are pretty. You have such classic features, and a figure to die for—men like curvy women, you know?”
I could tell she was trying to decide whether I was mocking her. After a moment, she broke into a shy smile. “Thanks. I wish I could believe you, but I know you mean well, so thank you.”
Before she could head off I added, “I mean it, Debbie. I’m not just trying to make you feel better. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. I think you’d be a lot happier.”
She flicked her hair back from her eyes and gave Aphrodite’s Looking Glass a hesitant glance. After a moment, she straightened her shoulders, flashed me a bewildered smile, and followed Colleen down the aisle. As they began to sniff different packets of bath salts, I returned to my station. Lydia had her own little hate club, that was for sure, and I’d happily add myself to the roster.
My stomach rumbled and I glanced at the clock. Time for lunch. I grabbed my purse and pawed through it, searching for my wallet. “Tawny, I’m headed over to the BookWich for lunch. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
She waved me off.
Venus Envy was located smack in the middle of downtown Gull Harbor, nestled between the Baklava or Bust Bakery and a Starbucks. The rest of the block consisted of Trader Joe’s, the Mahi-mahi Fish Market, a Michael’s arts and crafts store, the Pizza-Ria, Longs Drugs, and several small boutiques, including Marianne’s Closet, and the BookWich, a wonderful little bookstore-slash-café.
Downtown Gull Harbor was a good place to open up a business, with plenty of foot traffic, especially when the city held Art Walks and other civic events. Unlike a number of other growing communities in the northwest, Gull Harbor’s business district remained intact, alive and thriving. Even though the big chains had moved in, the shopping malls and strip malls hadn’t been able to usurp the small shops and businesses that made up the quirky heart of the city.
I stepped out into the rain-swept day and cringed as a gust of icy wind blasted my face. Wishing I’d remembered my jacket, I shivered and slipped through the door into the bakery, immediately succumbing to the heavenly aroma of fresh bread and pastries.
Display cases sparkled with jewel-colored cakes, frosted with glazes and heavy butter cream icing. Doughnuts hit the shelves still sizzling from the oil in which they were fried, and fat loaves of rye and pumpernickel dotted the shelves, along with tangy-smelling sourdough rounds and crusty French baguettes, fresh from the oven. I stepped up to the counter.
Dorian, Barbara’s husband, winked at me. “Barbara!” he called, his rich baritone thick with a Greek accent. “Persia’s here!”
I smiled broadly at him. Dorian was the kind of man who would come over and fix your car on a Sunday afternoon if you even hinted that you were having trouble with it. He’d also bring a dozen doughnuts with him and a pot of his famous hot chocolate, which he concocted from some secret recipe that he never showed to anybody. Barbara said he wouldn’t even let her see it.
“She’ll be out in a few minutes. Meanwhile, how about a cookie?”
I shook my head. “No, but I’ll take one of those sourdough rolls. Lots of butter.” I handed him a dollar and he dropped a quarter and a nickel in my hand. I wandered over to one of the small tables and took a seat.
“So, what are you up to, girl? We haven’t had a chance to talk since Barbara and I returned from Greece.” He set my plate on the table and I saw that he’d tucked a cookie on the side. Dorian firmly believed in the power of baking to make everything okay.
I eyed the roll, planning my attack. “Working up the classes on aromatherapy and herb-crafts for the shop this autumn.”
“Didn’t Barbara tell me you’re teaching a self-defense class now?”
I licked my hand where the melting butter drizzled down from the bread. “Yeah, over at Gulls Harbor Community College. I’ve agreed to teach one per quarter. Barbara should sign up for it—every woman needs to know how to defend herself.”
“I’ll put a bug in her ear.” He wiped his hands on his apron. “So you work for your aunt and you teach… that’s good, Persia. Work is good for the soul. Keep the body busy, keep the mind busy, and God will smile on you. Maybe he’ll even find you a husband.”
Coughing, I said, “Let’s hope not. I’ve got enough problems without that!” I winked at him and, with a wave and a laugh, he dis
appeared around the counter again to help another customer.
Hungry, I bit into the roll. Cursed with the appetite of a horse, I focused most of my intake on healthy food, so that the amount I ate wouldn’t make a dent in my metabolism. All my years at the gym had paid off—the muscle I’d built through Tai Chi, weight workouts, Aikido, Pilates, and yoga burned calories faster than I ate them.
Barbara wandered out, pulling off her voluminous apron. Even though she had a decade on me, we’d been friends since I was ten years old. Barb was petite in a way I would never be. Standing exactly five feet tall, soaking wet she couldn’t possibly tip the scales at a hundred. I towered over her at five-foot ten and a solid one fifty-five. My wavy black hair hit my butt, while she sported a short, sleek, coppery bob. Looking barely thirty, let alone forty-one, she had more energy than most of the teenagers I knew.
She waved toward the door. “Let’s go. I’m starving and want an omelet.” I popped the last bite of the roll in my mouth, grabbed my wallet and the cookie, and followed.
The BookWich, on the corner of Island Drive and Barrow Way, consisted of two stories, with an elevator for those who couldn’t manage the stairs. The café was on the bottom floor next to the periodicals, with parking around back. We hustled through the crowds, managing to secure a table next to a window that overlooked the parking lot and the alley beyond.
Instead of serving yuppie health food like so many small specialty cafés, the BookWich dished up homemade soups so thick they needed a fork, roast beef sandwiches layered with Swiss and dotted with cracked black pepper, and plump frankfurters covered with chili or sauerkraut or cheese. Food you could really sink your teeth into.
Our waitress bustled over with water and menus and pulled out a menu pad from her pocket. Barb ordered coffee. I went with my usual. “A cup of black tea with lemon, please, and could you check to see if somebody found my lesson plan that I left here last night?”
Scent to Her Grave Page 3
